Prison Break
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Crystal could swear that she'd seen Chris somewhere before. What was odd was that he thought the same about her.


**Prison Break**

"So, let me guess. Is it…steak? Chicken?"

"It's-"

"No no, don't tell me. It's…something beginning with e…"

"Chris, you know it's-"

"Escargot? Nah, course not. Been to France once. With my sister. Telling you, if by some chance you ever get to France, and don't get eaten, try the-"  
"For fuck's sake it's eggs! It's always eggs!"

Chris blinked as the woman shouted at him. Yes, it was eggs. It had been eggs for as long as he could remember, and without any means to mark the passage of time within the prison, "as long as he could remember" was a hazy "pretty much my entire life since the old world ended." Eggs, imprisonment, the apocalypse, a bunch of morons who thought he was an actual prisoner…he could deal with that. And he could deal with swearing as well.

"Here," she said, putting the tray through the hatch of his cell. "It's this or nothing. And most of the guys think that it should be nothing anyway."

But he'd never seen her swear before. And he hadn't seen her take a seat beside the cell before either.

"You got watch?" he asked.

She grunted and picked up a magazine, flicking through it with disinterest.

"It's mostly porn you know."

She looked up at him.

"Porn," he repeated. "And motorbikes. Just a heads up."

She didn't respond. But she did put the magazine down, fold her arms, and close her eyes. Shrugging, Chris ate the powdered eggs he'd been given. They looked like shit, tasted like shit, and his only consolation was that they were keeping him alive. That at the least, the prison was well stocked enough to feed seven people for months, maybe even years. And besides, he'd eaten worse.

"I'm done."

He stuck the tray out of the hatch. There was the other unfortunate manner that the very concept of eating involved the undead eating the living in all manner of disgusting, horrifying ways.

"Hey."

She just sat there. Eyes closed. Almost asleep.

"Hey!"

And she jumped to. And got up in a hurry.

"I'm done," he murmured. "Thanks."

She gingerly approached the hatch, and just as gingerly took the plate away. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she put the tray down, and sat back on the chair.

"On watch?" Chris asked.

She nodded.

"Well, have fun with that. I'll be here if you need anything."

He began pacing around his cell. Soon, very soon, he'd have to get round to push-ups and sit-ups. It would consume energy, but there was no better point to exercise than right after a meal, and he'd rather stay in shape in the event that these idiots decided to realize that he wasn't a psychopath.

"Have I seen you before?"

He glanced at the girl. She was standing up again, and walking up to his cell. Like he was a caged animal in a zoo, and a non-existent parent was telling her to get close. That it wouldn't bite.

 _Maybe we'll have zombies in zoos one day. Or even zoos for that matter._

"I mean…"

"Kid, you have seen me before," Chris said. "When you and the gang first arrived and decided to leave me locked in here."

Her face fell. It was subtle, and in the depths of the prison, barely noticeable. But Chris noticed all the same.

"Y'know, now that I think about it…you wanted to let me out."

She looked back up at him.

"Yeah," Chris said, beginning to smile. "You said, 'what if he's telling the truth?' And then…well…"

"They disagreed," she said. "Kim wanted to help, but Bennett had an even tighter leash on the guy than he does now."

"Oh yeah, Bennett," Chris said. "Didn't he call you an idiot? That you were-"

"Yes," she said, tersely. "Bennett…" She sighed, closing her eyes, sticking her hands in her pants, and looking upwards. "Bennett says a lot of things."

Chris silently weighed his options. He wasn't in the mood to be reciprocal to his captors. But he was talking with one of two people in the prison that had ever expressed an inkling to letting him go. And this conversation, if it could be called such a thing, had had more words in it just now than an entire week of guard shifts.

"I _have_ seen you before," she said. She returned her gaze to him. "Prison Break."

"What?"

"Prison Break," she said. "You…you starred in it, didn't you? That guy with tattoos on his back. And-"

"Kid, I'm either a prisoner, or a soldier. But I sure as hell ain't a movie actor."

"TV, actually."

"Same thing."

"Well, actually, the TV and film industries are more different than…" She trailed off. And Chris could guess why.

" _Were_ ," she murmured. She repeated the hands in pockets, looking upwards motion. "Were very different."

Chris had guessed correctly. Old world syndrome. Or something. Maybe there was a shrink still alive to classify the psychological condition of yearning for a pre-apocalyptic world.

 _Same way I'm yearning for some bloody food._

Well, he couldn't fault her. She wasn't going to free him, he could tell that much. But even if a conversation was all he was getting tonight, that was still better than anything else he'd received since he'd been locked up here. Especially-

"Y'know…" Chris began. "I think I've seen you somewhere else before."

She opened her eyes. "Pardon?"

"Yeah. On TV. Not a show. But…"

"Really, I don't think you've-"

"SunShield," Chris said. "You were in the SunShield add."

The girl looked like she was somewhere between aggravation and joy.

"Yeah, SunShield," Chris said. "It…you were the lady in the ad, right? Where you hold up the sunscreen and say…oh, what was it?"

"SunShield," she murmured. "Keeping you safe from Mother Sun's harsher touch." She smiled. "First and only acting gig."

"You're an actress?"

" _Was_ , an actress," she said. She brought up the chair and sat on it backwards, sitting her chin on its top. "Another one of those past tense things that I have to get used to." She looked up at him. "But I still think you were-"

Chris took off his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

And he turned around. There were no tattoos. Nothing from a TV show at least. Though there was a tattoo that read-

"Born killer," she read. "Huh. Nice."

Chris put his shirt back on, and turned round to face her. "Trust me kid, when you're a soldier, you tend to have to be good at that."

"…that doesn't prove anything."

"Oh really?" Chris asked. "You…" He sighed. He was through trying to convince her. Maybe he already had, and she just couldn't free him. Chain of command and all that. Right now, he was fine with conversation.

"You know how hard it is to kill a zombie?" he asked.

She looked up at him.

"It's hard," he said. "The whole headshot thing. Soldiers are taught to aim for centre mass when using firearms. Easier to hit, incapacitation – in a battlefield, it's far better to maim the enemy than kill them outright. Especially-"

"Don't," she said. She sat back down on the chair. "No…no stories. I…I don't want to hear them. Not now."

Chris looked at her. She was back in that usual spot – halfway between aggravation and despair. Gingerly, he stuck out a hand through the prison hatch. She looked up at it.

"Chris Redfield," he said. "Just in case any formal introductions were missed."

She laughed quietly. And a moment later she took it.

"Crystal Waters," she said. "Aspiring actress. Former, actress, if you count sunscreen commercials."

"I'll count them if you want," Chris said. Their hands remained together. "But…thanks."

"For what?"

"Conversation. It's been…nice."

Without much thought, Crystal squeezed his hand. And for the first time in this entire conversation, properly smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "It's been…nice."

Chris returned the squeezing.

Suddenly, the thought of powdered eggs didn't seem so bad.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So, yes, it's long been joked that Wentworth Miller ends up playing Chris Redfield in a prison, having previously played Michael Scofield, who's also in a prison. Just my take on it I guess._


End file.
